Within Reach
by Aedemiel
Summary: A deleted scene from S12E12 Stuck in the Middle (With You). Back at the bunker, Dean wants to be sure Cas really is OK.


As soon as Dean turned off the engine, Sam scrambled out of the car and opened the trunk, his movements quick and jerky. Mary climbed out more slowly, chewing on her lip in distraction. Dean frowned at her and then walked around to the back door and offered his hand to Cas, who accepted it with a strange look on his face. Sam grabbed his duffel bag and tossed Mary's to her.

"I'm exhausted," he declared. He seemed to be in a hurry which was odd, but Dean was too tired to question it. "See you in the morning." And then his brother was striding out of the garage on his long legs. Mary pushed her hair out of her face and squeezed Cas's shoulder before hugging Dean briefly.

"Is Sam OK?" she asked.

"No idea," Dean said. "How about you?"

"I'll live," she said wryly. "This isn't the first time I've been on a hunt that went bad, but that was worse than most. And Wally… dammit."

"Wally's death isn't your fault," Dean told her. She looked doubtful but nodded. "Go get some sleep, mom." With a sigh she hefted her bag onto her shoulder and headed off to her room.

Dean supposed he ought to go to bed too, but the events of the day had left him antsy and unsettled so he headed to the kitchen instead, Cas trailing behind him. Once he'd snagged a beer from the fridge and swallowed half the contents, he turned around to look at the angel. His shirt was ruined, stained with blood and ripped open on the right side.

"You sure you're OK?" he said without preamble.

"Yes," Cas said. He lifted the ribbons of the shirt to demonstrate. His pale skin was smeared liberally with drying blood, but the surface looked unmarred.

"It's not that I don't trust you," Dean said, placing his beer bottle on the counter and moving closer to examine the area where Michael's lance had pierced Cas's flesh. "But I'd like to be sure there aren't any lasting effects."

Cas sighed, a soft frustrated little sound that made Dean's legs tremble slightly. He peeled off his trenchcoat, tugged off his tie and finally removed the remains of the shirt, dumping it in an untidy pile on the floor.

"I assure you that everything is fine," the angel said. But he had spread his arms wide, inviting Dean's scrutiny.

Dean meticulously inspected every inch of his chest. The angel's body was remarkably trim, given the original owner had not been an especially athletic man. A light sprinkling of dark hairs across his chest formed a neat line which led down to his belly button and then finally disappeared under the waistband of his pants. He placed his hands on the place where the wound had been and traced his fingers across Cas's skin, looking for any undetected imperfections that might indicate the rot had not been banished as they thought. But there was nothing untoward. The angel's skin was warm and smooth. Dean swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry and he dragged his gaze unwillingly back up the angel's chest. His nipples were pert and a light pinkish-brown and as Dean touched him, the skin goosepimpled in reaction. Unconsciously, Dean wet his lips and then looked up into Cas's eyes. The angel's eyes were bluer than he'd seen them in a long time, and his pupils were wide.

"That was a close call," Dean said. "I nearly- We nearly lost you, Cas." His voice was uncharacteristically hoarse. "Don't ever do that to me… to us again."

"I'm sorry," the angel said. His breathing hitched but otherwise Cas was utterly still. Spots appeared in Dean's vision and he realized he was holding his breath, so close to Cas that he could feel the angel's breath stirring his hair and skimming his cheek.

Dean wasn't sure how long they stood there, just gazing at each other. His fingers drifted upwards of their own accord, over the rough stubble on Cas's jaw and at that moment, the memory of the moment he'd realized that Cas was actually dying and there was nothing he could do crashed over him and he swallowed past the lump in his throat. Cas watched the movement with unconcealed interest and then his eyes widened in alarm. He stepped back and began fussily gathering his clothing, unable to meet Dean's eyes again.

"I need to find another shirt," he said. "I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well, Dean." Dean watched the angel practically run out of the kitchen before picking up his beer and finishing the bottle in one swallow. He didn't think sleep was going to be within reach tonight.


End file.
